Come, mete me out my loneliness, O wind, For I would know How far the living who must stay behind Are from the dead who go. Eternal Passer-by, I feel there is In thee a Stir, A Strength to span the yawning distances From her gravestone to her. Down to me quickly, down! I am such dust, Baked, pressed together; let my flesh be fanned With thy fresh breath: come from thy reedy land Voiceful with birds; divert me, for Ilust. To break, to crumble - prick with pores this crust And fall apart delicious, loosening sand. Oh, joy, I feel thy breath, I feel thy hand That searches for my heart, and trembles just Where once it beat. How light thy touch, thy frame! Surely thou perchest on the summer trees. . . . And the garden that we loved? Soul, take thine ease, I am content, so thou enjoy the same Sweet terraces and founts, content, for thee, To burn inthis immense torpidity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ELEGY: 3. CHANGE by JOHN DONNE THE WORLD (1) by HENRY VAUGHAN SPORTSMEN IN PARADISE by T. P. CAMERON WILSON BUDDHA AND BRAHMA by HENRY BROOKS ADAMS LEFT BEHIND by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN |